


you don't gotta say i love you to say i love you

by kzumeknma (born_to_fly)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Iwaizumi Hajime in Denial, Iwaizumi Hajime is a Good Friend, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Kageyama Tobio, Oikawa Tooru is Bad at Feelings, Oikawa Tooru is a Little Shit, but it's minor and only mentioned, but like, it's not the heavy stuff lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25357375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/born_to_fly/pseuds/kzumeknma
Summary: No one really knows what Iwaizumi's love language is (least of all Iwaizumi himself), but it certainly isn't words of affirmation.or, 5 times that Iwaizumi doesn't say "I love you", and 1 time that he does.
Relationships: Implied Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira, Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio & Kindaichi Yuutarou & Kunimi Akira
Comments: 20
Kudos: 93





	1. childhood. (9 years old)

“Wait up, dumbass,” Hajime yells, his bug-catching net flailing behind him. 

Tooru lets out a scandalized gasp, eyes wide and disbelieving, but slows his pace to a walk to let his best friend catch up. “Hajime! You’re not allowed to say words like that- what would Auntie say?” 

There’s a split second of fidgety silence as Hajime actually considers the question- what  _ would  _ his mom do if she caught him saying bad words?- but he quickly dismisses the thought with a slight shake of his head. “I dunno. You’re still a dummy, though.”

“Mean, Hajime!” Tooru’s lip sticks out in a little pout, but Hajime’s spent enough time around Tooru to know what he looks like when he’s actually upset, and a pouty Tooru isn’t anything he usually needs to worry about. Just in case, though, Hajime shifts his grip on his bug-catching net so that he can grab Tooru’s hand. It’s slightly rough from newly-formed volleyball calluses and sweaty from the sticky summer heat, but Hajime thinks he would like the way Tooru’s hand fits in his even if Tooru's hand was scratchier than sandpaper and soaking wet. 

“C’mon, Tooru, I wanna go catch some bugs!” Already excited at the prospect of cool-looking beetles, Hajime tugs at Tooru’s hand, breaking into a flat-out run. 

“Eww, Hajime! Bugs are stupid and gross!” Tooru lets out a squeal as he pitches forward, not expecting the sudden change in speed, but a wild, real smile breaks out across his face and he lets out a whoop of laughter. 

“ _ You’re  _ stupid and gross,” Hajime shoots back, but his eyes glint, and he can’t stop his unrestrained grin. Tooru’s real, genuine smile is one of his favorite sights, and Tooru’s hand in his is one of his favorite feelings, and there are so many bugs around today, and Hajime just feels happy and  _ good _ . 

The two boys spend their afternoon hunting for bugs (in Hajime’s case) and whining and flopping about good-naturedly (in Tooru’s). Bugs are fast, Hajime soon discovers, and after he’s spent about an hour trying and failing to catch any cool bugs at all, he quickly grows discouraged. Tooru, of course, notices, and pokes Hajime in between the eyebrows to get rid of the pronounced wrinkle in between them. “Don’t be so angry, Hajime! My mom says scrunching your eyebrows like that will give you wrinkles, and wrinkles are weird!”

Hajime shakes Tooru from where he’s latched onto his arm and clicks his tongue, annoyed. That’s when Hajime spots the most awesome beetle he’s ever seen in his young life. “Shh, Tooru! I see one! I’m gonna sneak up on it so you better be quiet.”

There are a few tense moments as Hajime crouches, adjusting his hold on his net. Blessedly, Tooru shuts his mouth for once, watching with wide eyes as his best friend sneaks up on his unsuspecting prey. 

_ Just a couple of centimeters closer _ , Hajime thinks, holding his breath as he gets within reach of the cool beetle. There’s a second of absolute stillness, then-

Hajime pounces, bringing the net down hard over the bug. He peers into the net, and his breath catches. “Look, look, Tooru! I caught it!” 

Tooru gulps a little, whiny bravado fading as he edges closer to the net. He’s never really liked bugs- in fact, they make his skin feel all creepy and crawly. Hajime picks up the beetle with his bare hands to drop it in a glass jar- Tooru shivers, already grossed-out. 

“Isn’t it so cool? Isn’t it?” Hajime babbles, bouncing around excitedly, and he thrusts the jar towards Tooru so his best friend could also see just how awesome the bug looks, but suddenly, the bug is  _ much _ too close for Tooru’s liking. 

Tooru lets out a terrified shriek, stumbling backwards. His foot catches on nothing, and he falls back, landing weirdly on his ankle. Twin shocked expressions paint themselves across the two boys’ faces, before- 

A high-pitched wail shatters the air, and Tooru’s face crumples in pain, big, fat tears leaking from his eyes as he clutches at his ankle. 

“Tooru!” Hajime drops his jar immediately and runs to his friend. Panicked, fluttery hands only make Tooru cry louder, and Hajime freaks out. “It wasn’t  _ that  _ scary- it was supposed to be cool- come on, Tooru, stop crying,  _ stop _ , are you okay?”

They sit there, Hajime’s hands covering Tooru’s where they rub at his ankle, and Tooru takes deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm down. He sniffles, wiping his face with the back of his hand, and sends a weak, watery glare at Hajime. “You said it would be cool, Hajime, but it wasn't! It was just  _ scary. _ ”

Hajime’s brows furrow. He had thought it  _ was _ cool- bugs were awesome and not scary at all, and he thought his best friend would agree. Apparently not. “You’re so dumb, Tooru,” he says, but his voice is as warm and reassuring as a prepubescent boy’s voice can be, “I would’ve protected you, you know that.” Hajime brings one of his hands up, gently turning his friend’s face so he can look him in the eyes. “I’ll always protect you.”

Tooru’s eyes are wide, shiny and slightly red in the aftermath of his tears. He’s frozen for a moment, lips parted slightly, before his mouth turns downward in his signature pout. “Not fair, Hajime! I wanna protect you too! Why do you get to be so cool?” 

As Tooru continues to chant “ _ not fair, not fair, not fair _ ,” Hajime lets out a small sigh of relief. His friend appears to be calming down, but his concern comes back full force as Tooru attempts to stand back up and immediately collapses back on the ground, ankle folding to the pain. Hajime can sense the incoming breakdown, so before Tooru has the chance to begin crying again, Hajime crouches down. “C’mon, Tooru. I’ll carry you home.”

It’s very telling that Tooru doesn’t make any stupid comments or protests and instead clambers onto his friends back, piggyback-style, sniffling all the while. They’re both quiet as Hajime walks them home, but as Hajime sets Tooru down on Tooru’s front porch, gentle, Tooru turns around and throws his arms around his best friend. “Thank you, Hajime. I knew you weren’t just a big bully all the time!”

“Shut up,” Hajime says, face blazing a bright red. “Go take care of yourself, dumbass.” A weird, fluttery feeling bubbles up in his stomach, and Hajime turns abruptly, making his way across the street to his own. He feels like he’s swallowed a bunch of dragonflies. It’s uncomfortable, but not wholly unpleasant- he really likes dragonflies. It would be cool if he actually swallowed some, Hajime thinks.

When he gets to his house, he glances back at Tooru, instinctively checking to make sure he’s okay. His friend has managed to limp to the door and knock, and Hajime breathes a little bit easier as Tooru’s mom comes into view. Auntie would always take care of Tooru, Hajime knew, and he was reassured even as Auntie’s voice went loud and high-pitched with concern.

The next day, after Tooru’s come back from the doctor and reassured Hajime that “my ankle is fine, really, the doctor said I just twisted it,” Hajime kneels down next to Tooru, glass jar in hand, and tells Tooru that the bugs  _ are _ super cool and definitely not scary at all. 

With the air of a man approaching a wild animal, Hajime extends the jar towards Tooru again, movements slow and steady. The beetle from the day before sits casually on a stick at the bottom of the jar, munching at a leaf.

“He looks like an alien, so don’t be scared of him.” Trembling fingers betray Tooru’s bravado-filled nod, and he carefully takes the jar from Hajime, peering through the curved glass at the beetle, who continues to eat, unbothered. He studies the bug’s weird mandibles, its spindly antennae, its strangely-angled legs. There’s a tense silence as Tooru considers this newest piece of information, then-

Tooru’s eyes light up, sparkling, and the sides of his mouth curl up in a small smile. “You’re right, Hajime! It looks so  _ weird _ \- just like an alien!” Hajime stifles a grin under some vague grumbling about Tooru’s whining. 

“Of course I’m right, dumbass. Besides, I told you yesterday- I’m strong enough to protect you. So you never have to be scared anyway.”


	2. middle school, third year. (15 years old)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Oikawa's final middle school game, Kitagawa Daiichi clawed and scratched and fought with all they had, but they still came up short. No one is harder on themselves than Oikawa Tooru.
> 
> (No one hates seeing Oikawa like this more than Iwaizumi Hajime).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe oikawa has so much power

Oikawa senses the ball striking the ground before he sees it. The cheers of the crowd are muted, but nothing is louder than the sound of disbelief, of blood rushing through his ears, of being so close, yet so indefinitely far. The whistle blows, shattering the stillness, and with it, Oikawa’s heart. Their last game of middle school. His hands are red from five hard matches worth of sets, forearms stinging from his last, desperate attempt to raise Ushijima’s spike, but in the end- Oikawa makes a choked noise, forcing down his sob- in the end, it doesn’t matter. 

The team with the better six is stronger, Oikawa knows, but he’s the _captain_. He was supposed to lead the team to victory, to overcome the strength of geniuses, to be more, faster, _better_. If he’d just hit one more serve, received one more spike, run one more lap at practice, would they have won? Would he finally be indomitable?

Logically, Oikawa knows there’s nothing more he could have done. He’d practiced well past the point of exhaustion. He’d watched the old game tapes almost religiously, sacrificing hours of sleep and homework time. Hell, he’d lost his first girlfriend because he hadn’t been spending enough time with her, and he’d been relieved because he would have more time to practice volleyball. 

Logically, he knows that their team played extraordinarily well today, that everyone had given everything they had, and maybe more. Iwa-chan had called for spike after spike after spike, even five sets deep when his entire body must have been on the brink of collapse. Yet, the power of his hits never faltered- and many people forgot that the strength of Iwaizumi’s spikes rivaled even Ushijima’s. Kindaichi was in rare form, and Oikawa begrudgingly admitted that Kageyama had also done well as the second-string setter when he got subbed in to change up the rhythm of the game. Even Kunimi had been running up and down the court well into the fifth set, and at the very last point, the supposedly lazy boy hadn’t given up, chasing the ball with the desperation of a starving man reaching for food. Kitagawa Daiichi had played beautifully, the metaphorical orchestra of their team masterfully conducted by Oikawa himself.

Logically, he knows this, but in his mind’s eye, he can’t stop himself from replaying that last, devastating moment. Ushijima’s arm drawing back, making contact with the ball, blowing past three blockers. Oikawa, stumbling forwards, wild and desperate, feeling the harsh smack of leather against his forearms. The split second of _knowing_ that the spin was too much, that he wouldn’t be able to save this one. The damning thud of the ball against the ground, followed by the crash of Kunimi’s body, milliseconds too late. The whistle, painful and piercing.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa jolts. He hasn’t heard Iwa-chan say his given name in years. Normally, he’d poke fun, but he’s exhausted, so tired that he can’t stop the tears that escape from the corners of his eyes. Besides, it’s a reminder, a reprimand, and a reassurance all in one. In two syllables, Iwaizumi has reminded Oikawa of his duty as captain, called out his clearly self-deprecating train of thought, and snapped him out of his funk.

Their eyes meet, and Oikawa’s heart breaks, just a little, at the grind of Iwa-chan’s jaw, the clench of his fists, the suspicious shine in his eyes, and Oikawa remembers that he’s not the only one who’s hurting. There’s pain written in every line of Iwa-chan’s body, the bitter dignity of a defeated ace radiating from his every pore. 

Seeing that raw anguish _burns_ something in Oikawa, makes something in him snap to life. It’s not the fire of genius that rages in his eyes. It’s not the overwhelming strength of steel that straightens his spine. It’s warm, molten, settling low over his stomach and sticking to his ribs. Oikawa thinks it might be his pride.

“Right. Let’s line up, everybody!” He calls, voice unwavering. Oikawa has always led by example, so he heads over to the line, slapping his teammates on the back as he passes. Even Kageyama gets a perfunctory pat, blunt in its comfort. 

When his teammates have joined him, Oikawa glares straight across the court at Ushijima, gritting his teeth. Ushijima meets his gaze evenly. There’s not a hint of smugness, of pride, of gloating in that steady stare. Instead, there’s pity, and somehow, that’s worse.

Iwa-chan is a pillar of strength next to him, bolstering his will, and even as a terrible, stabbing pain boils under his skin, Oikawa uses every last drop of his willpower to prevent the corners of his mouth from dragging downwards. Ushijima may have ripped a victory from his arms, but Oikawa would be damned if he let Ushijima take his tears, his dignity as a captain. 

“Thank you for the game!” Even as he forces his spine into a bow, even as his teammates echo him, Oikawa can’t help the bitter twist of his mouth. _Thank you for that defeat. Thank you for ripping that victory from me this year too._

They straighten, and once again, Oikawa is faced with Ushijima’s unflinching stare. He knows he should take the first step, he _knows_ this, but his body won’t move, trapped by the weight of his failure. It’s Iwaizumi who leads the team then, pulling everyone forward to shake hands, and Oikawa follows. 

Iwa-chan has always been able to tell when Oikawa’s mask slips, and he always makes sure to draw attention away, to give Oikawa time to recover, before ceding the spotlight back to Oikawa. Today is no different, and Iwaizumi gently takes the mantle of leadership from Oikawa, leading the team through their handshakes and watching as Oikawa moves through handshake after handshake as if in a dream, acting solely on muscle memory. His hand is limp when he reaches Ushijima, the usual spark gone from his eyes.

Distantly, Iwaizumi hears Ushijima say, “do not make the same mistake in high school.” Oikawa barely flinches, and Iwaizumi is left with burning, impotent rage. _None of this was a mistake, you bastard. We may not have won, but it wasn’t a mistake._

Everything is concerningly quiet, with Oikawa going through post-match motions like an automaton, and it makes Iwaizumi want to punch something. Oikawa gets lost in his mind sometimes, Iwaizumi knows, and he hates that Oikawa has gone somewhere where he cannot follow. He cannot protect Tooru when the enemy is Tooru himself. 

Their team circles around their coach for their post-game debrief, and Oikawa states, “You all played well today,” leaving no room for argument, not even from their coach. Iwaizumi feels something loosen in his lungs as he hears the warmth that creeps into Oikawa's voice. “I’m honored to have stood on the same court as every one of you. Thank you for letting me lead you, and thank you for these past three years.”

In his periphery, Iwaizumi hears a choked-back sob- it’s probably Kindaichi- but he can’t tear his gaze away from Oikawa, standing tall and strong and beautiful, every bit the captain of Kitagawa Daiichi. There’s something in Oikawa’s eyes that Iwaizumi recognizes as his pride. It’s small, barely an ember, weakly flickering, but it’s _there_ , and Iwaizumi can finally breathe again. 

Their team moves through the rest of their post-game ritual. Everyone pretends not to notice as Kindaichi breaks down crying in the locker room, and Kunimi guides him into a more private corner, hand gentle and unobtrusive at his elbow. A couple of the first-years mutter quietly together, and a few second-years giggle as they share memes, drowning their pain in [top text, bottom text], Comic Sans, and surrealist images.

Kageyama is noticeably silent, quick to clean himself up and quicker to pull out his phone, his fingers flying across the buttons as he texts someone- probably his sister, Iwaizumi thinks. He can’t help but be a little concerned, though. Normally, Kageyama is attached like glue to Kindaichi and Kunimi- they’re a trio, for all intents and purposes, Kindaichi’s naive brashness balanced by Kageyama’s quiet earnestness and Kunimi’s blank-faced teasing, and it’s odd that Kageyama hasn’t also gone to be with his closest friends.

Iwaizumi dismisses it as Kageyama wanting to give them some privacy- even the densest of people could probably sense the romantic tension between the other two, and Kageyama, though naive, was far from the densest person. _Well_ , Iwaizumi thinks, reconsidering, _actually_ -

“Iwa-chan~!”

 _Ah, there’s that annoying voice_ , Iwaizumi thinks, but a soft smile curls his lips, unbidden. It’s comforting to hear the cutesy nickname from Oikawa- reassuring, even, with how quiet Oikawa had been earlier- but he could never let Tooru know that. With a slight start, Iwaizumi realizes that everyone else has left the locker room, and he’s been staring blankly at the wall for the past couple of minutes, considering the extent of Kageyama’s obliviousness.

“What do you want, Shittykawa?” 

“You need to hurry and clean yourself up, Iwa-chan! I know you’re a big brute who doesn’t care about your appearance, and your brain is too tiny to control your big body at a decent speed-”

“Hey!”  
“-but the awards ceremony is starting soon, and we need to get back out there quickly.”

It’s a lighthearted reminder from his best friend, but Iwaizumi can also hear the firm authority of a captain underlying the words. Grumbling, Iwaizumi goes to splash water on his face and make sure he looks at least slightly presentable. Oikawa waits, patient and silent, until-

“Thank you for earlier, Hajime,” and it’s Tooru-his-best-friend who speaks then, not Oikawa-his-captain.

At the shift in tone, Iwaizumi spins around. He hasn’t heard his given name from Tooru in years, and in those five words, Iwaizumi hears the three that go unspoken, a secret message, and he really can’t tamp down the goofy, gentle grin that spreads over his face. 

“Someone’s gotta keep your dumb ass in line, dumbass.”

“Rude, Iwa-chan! I’m trying to have a moment, and you have to go and ruin it with your crass words? You didn’t even bother to change the insult!” Oikawa whines, but Iwaizumi isn’t too concerned. He sees the matching grin on Oikawa’s face. _Message received_. 

“Come on, let’s go- we’ll really hold up the ceremony if we don’t get out there soon, and who knows what they’ll say about the captain and ace of Kitagawa Daiichi then.” Oikawa drags Iwaizumi out of the locker room, fingers careful against his wrist, and Iwaizumi is struck, full-force, by Oikawa Tooru’s most carefully-hidden beauty- the one that springs from his will, his strength, his determination to keep pushing forward.

They give obligatory applause and congratulations as Shiratorizawa is announced as the winner of the tournament, and Oikawa can’t help but glance over at Iwaizumi as the purple-clad figures walk over to receive the honor that could’ve been theirs. There’s bitterness in Iwaizumi’s eyes, Oikawa knows, and it stabs at Oikawa’s heart. _If I had just set a little quicker, trained a little harder, done a little better_ \- 

And just like that, Oikawa is lost again, drowning in waves of self-hatred. _It’s your fault_ , the voices in his head scream, furious, _your precious Iwa-chan could’ve been up there, receiving a medal, but you failed him_. The blame batters at Oikawa’s mind, and as effective as his placid, pretty-boy mask usually is, he’d hate to see what his face looks like now. 

“Oi! Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi’s voice breaks through the deluge, and Oikawa comes up for air, gasping. “They called your name, idiot.”

And then there’s a plaque in his hands, solid and _real_ , and it drowns out the voices. _Best setter,_ he reads, and hope shines from behind a cloud. Their journeys would not end here. Iwaizumi would stay by his side at Aoba Johsai next year, and while no team stays the same forever, Oikawa knows that Kitagawa Daiichi was a feeder school for Aoba Johsai. Surely they’d play with Kindaichi, with Kunimi, and- if Oikawa was particularly unlucky- with Kageyama again. 

_Best setter_. It was a balm for Oikawa’s anxieties, a life preserver in a flood, a drink of water in a desert. 

“That’s a genuine smile, for once.” Iwaizumi’s voice broke into his thoughts again, but Oikawa couldn’t find it within himself to mind. Iwa-chan’s voice was his favorite, after all. 

“What do you mean? All of my smiles are this pure and innocent!” A little taken aback- _Iwa-chan notices my different smiles?_ \- Oikawa recovers quickly, winking and sticking up a peace sign before flounces away, ignoring Iwaizumi’s pissed-off grumbles in favor of finding Kageyama in the little crowd of Kita-Ichi players. 

“Look, Tobio-chan! This is the mark of a _truly_ good setter- maybe one day, you too can be as great as the amazing Oikawa-san! Haha!” 

It’s meant to come out as a sneer, as a self-indulgent boast, but Oikawa’s not sure if his intent is clear when Kageyama turns guileless blue eyes on him and says, “Congratulations, Oikawa-senpai. I will do my best to live up to your expectations.” There’s not a hint of deception or mockery in his tone, only an earnest sort of adoration. Immediately, Oikawa feels like he’s kicked a puppy, and even worse, like the puppy doesn’t even recognize that he’s been kicked, coming right back to Oikawa with idolizing eyes. 

“ _Ugh_ , Tobio-chan, why can’t you let me have this?” Oikawa storms away, quick as he came, trying to keep up his spiteful facade to save face. Kageyama’s confused noises and Kunimi’s answering snickers make for an amusing backing track for his dramatic exit. 

It’s only later, when he’s at home alone, when the goodbyes have been said, when the high of recognition and team bonding has faded, that Oikawa thinks, bitter and angry, _win the battle, lose the war_. Best setter means nothing if he couldn’t set up a victory for his team. High school was right around the corner, yes, but what did that matter to their team right now? They deserved better than second place, and despite playing at his best, Oikawa had failed to deliver.

“Oi- I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know it’s stupid and shitty, Crappykawa. Cut it out, or I’ll punch you.” Oikawa startles at the sound of his best friend’s voice at his door. 

“Ah, Iwa-chan, as brutish as ever! How dare you intrude upon the great Oikawa-san?” he keeps his voice deliberately light, clamping down on the disappointment that clogs his lungs, sticky and dark like tar. Iwa-chan doesn’t need to know about the highlight reel of Oikawa’s failures that’s playing on loop in his mind. 

Evidently, Oikawa’s farce doesn’t work; Iwaizumi doesn’t take the bait. Instead of getting angry and snapping back at Oikawa with a “Trashykawa” or a “Shittykawa” or an equally creative nickname, Iwaizumi’s eyes soften imperceptibly, his voice melting into a quiet, gentle thing- as gentle as an overly-blunt teenage boy’s voice could be, anyway. “Hey, Tooru-”

It has the opposite effect. The tenderness stings a thousand times worse when Oikawa _knows_ he doesn't deserve it, and he can’t stop the tears that escape his iron grip on his emotions.

“ _Hajime_ ,” the name comes out as a sob, as a collection of broken syllables, more than it does an intelligible name, and Iwaizumi’s heart breaks at the sound. 

“C’mere,” Iwaizumi says, opening his arms, and Oikawa tumbles out of his seat in his haste to get to his best friend. They’ve always been comfortable in each other’s space, but their brand of contact was more casual, back slaps and high fives, shoulder nudges and hip checks. 

There’s nothing casual about the way that Hajime cradles Tooru in his arms, gentle and intimate, as if trying to shield him from the pain of loss and frustration, from his overwhelming self-doubt and self-hatred. A warm, steady hand rubs Oikawa’s back as he cries himself out, soothing him, assuring him that he’s not alone. 

Iwaizumi’s not sure how long they stay there- minutes blend into hours as he holds Oikawa close. By the time the flow of tears lessens, the sun is setting, casting the room in golden-orange light. 

When Oikawa finally looks up, Iwaizumi meets his gaze fondly. “You’ve always been an ugly crier.” It’s a truth, but not the full one. Mussed hair, puffy eyes, sniffly noses, and tear-stained cheeks are not attractive on anybody, but the fading light of the sun weaves through Oikawa’s messy hair, turns his watery, puffy eyes to molten amber, reflects off his tear-tracks to leave trails of glistening gold against his skin. Iwaizumi has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Iwaizumi freezes. _Beautiful?_ Boys are not supposed to be beautiful. Sunsets are beautiful. His mom is beautiful. Boys shouldn’t be- least of all Oikawa Tooru. Immediately, Iwaizumi stops that train of thought. There would be time for burgeoning gay panic later. 

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says, hiding his face in Iwaizumi’s chest, but Iwaizumi can feel the beginnings of a smile tugging against his shirt, “So mean of you to kick the great Oikawa-san while he’s down!”

“It’s not mean if it’s the truth,” Iwaizumi grins, big and smug, as Oikawa shoots right back up, letting out an offended noise. He’s obviously trying to fight back a smile, to maintain his air of deep indignation, but the corners of his mouth fight valiantly upwards. It’s Iwaizumi’s favorite smile of Oikawa’s, one that spreads over Oikawa’s face like he couldn’t stop it if he tried. That genuine smile makes Oikawa glow, brighter and more radiant than even the sun. Not that Iwaizumi would ever say that out loud. 

“So many insults to the great Oikawa-san today. First, Ushiwaka has the gall to _speak_ in my presence, then Iwa-chan tells me I’m ugly- when will these blasphemies end? On top of that, Tobio-chan didn’t even look upset when I rubbed my victory in his face!” 

“You did _what_?”   
“Well, how else am I supposed to make sure that Tobio-chan knows that I’m better than him?” There’s a beat of disbelieving silence as Iwaizumi visibly digests that piece of information, “he calls you _senpai_ ” on the tip of his tongue. 

There’s no way that Kageyama, the sweet, dense boy that he is, understood that Oikawa was trying to rile him up, and the image of a noodle-armed Oikawa giving his all to break through an oblivious, Kageyama-shaped brick wall is enough to make Iwaizumi chuckle. Oikawa shoots him another indignant look. It’s so completely absurd, yet it’s 100% _Tooru_ , and Iwaizumi lets out a real laugh, warm and full and undeniably fond. 

“You really are a shitty person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this entire work was supposed to only be like 6-7k words. here's 3k all in a single chapter. i've clowned myself.

**Author's Note:**

> the first fic i ever wrote was an iwaoi fic, a tiny little 700-word baby published back in 2017. i'd been a hq fan for a while before that, but hq inspired me to write and publish for the first time ever. with the end of the manga, i'm coming full circle and celebrating the end of this era by returning to my roots with another iwaoi fic. i grew up alongside these characters, and i'm immeasurably proud of every single one of them. don't worry, i'll still be writing for hq- i'm not going anywhere, lol
> 
> to furudate-sensei, who will definitely never see this: thank you very much for these past 8 years!
> 
> to everyone who reads my work, to all of the authors in this beautiful fandom: thank you all so, so much. your comments and stories and ideas are amazing and so inspiring. the official story may have ended, but it's not over for us yet- let's keep creating in the future!
> 
> anyways, if u couldn't tell, i'm just really emotional about hq ending. pls excuse me lol


End file.
